Tuesday, March 5

This Week In Things That Kept Me Clothed: Home Sweet Empty Home Edition

Like wakin' up from a very, very, very, very, very long sartorial nap.

Having recently moved, I currently live in what I've come to describe as an empty gallery. I jokingly tell my boyfriend twice a week he has to sleep on the couch, which I find hilarious because we don't have one; when we watch The New Girl, I straddle that green chair's armrest like a toy horse outside a strip mall Michaels. The apartment, while amazing, only has that armchair, a broken desk chair, a metal stool and stark, blank walls. It also, as you may have noticed from the lack of photographs, has less mirrors than a bulimia rehabilitation center. (If you didn't spend your teenage years reading about eating disorders in Jane magazine, what I'm trying to say is I also don't have mirrors.) There's one in the bathroom so I can watch myself stick the blunt, unsharpened end of my Estee Lauder eyeliner directly into my pupil, but I haven't seen my full reflection in five full weeks, which is why you haven't either.

Add to it that it's wintertime and a knee-length puffy jacket + gymshoes is essentially a low-cost alternative to an invisibility cloak, the flow of selfies on Instygram has slowed up to a draught-like status. But, I've secretly been snapping photos with a fancy camera and a remote like I'm some sort of part time model, which is ironic, due to the amount of time I typically spend in a dirty, stained Pillsbury Doughboy sweatshirt and plaid boxer shorts.

Like, hours.

Like, maybe even a full day or two.

Okay fine, most afternoons during the week that don't require leaving the house.

Apologies to anyone I've been running late to meet over the past three weeks because, well, I was most likely doing this when I said I couldn't find a cab. I owe you a Laffy Taffy or six and we'll call it even.

What looks like a two-time misstep into the land of feminine wares is actually just a bout of style trickery akin to those Magic Eyes I could never fucking get my face orbs to figure out. (I JUST WANT TO SEE THE 3D OCEAN IN THE ELEMENTARY SCHOOL LIBRARY, GOD DAMN IT!) On the left is my attempt to dress up a Mickey Mouse sweatshirt, which works oddly well over the dress I wore to my sorority's sophomore formal a bazillion years ago. (Which, unsurprisingly, is still the best-fitting item in my closet.) On the right, I present a treasure from storage units past: the little vintage dress from this odd spot that saved me through three months worth of summer internships, and was recently unearthed just minutes before dinner on the 14th. It's maternal and terribly unflattering from the side, but when your Valentine's Day consists of flipping meat skewers, you don't want to spill cow guts all over anything you love anyway. Mmm, cow guts.

Man oh man oh man. I look like a man. I've finally worn my beloved cheeseburger shirt out in the wild, which took about one year too long considering spying it in my closet makes it a constant source of groggy morning smiles. Over there on the right is my audition snapshot for Monster 2. There were actually more flattering versions of this photo on my computer, but I thought this one would shame me into not piling as many navy things on my pasty torso while thinking I'm doubling as a Celine-obsessive Jak&Jil snap. I feel wildly confident in a backwards baseball cap, and I don't know what to do about it. Christ, I could really use Stacy London on retainer right about now.

Hey, who's that crazy lady out on the town? It's meeee, it's meeeee! This photoset takes us into the single mom gallery of fashion snaps, meaning that I was very busy and trying to do everything at once, so I therefore didn't have enough time to pose, set the camera or figure out how to light things in this new place I now call home. Alright, so patchwork fur may not be exactly the same as buying Chips Ahoy for a class bake sale and passing them off as homemade, but these two baggy on top-skirt on bottom-optional fur to cover it all up outfits were both worn to large-scale meals, meaning that my wardrobe now exclusively caters to all food-shoveling events. Just the way I like it.

They don't match up, but it's kind of like a broken GIF that way, right? Eh, better luck next time. On ye olde left, we have my mid-month uniform, worn no less than four times in a row and featured in another post on the site. If you happen to have a careful eye and aren't pitcher-pitcher-belly-itcher'ing your time on Awkward City Land O' Lakes, than you'll recognize it. Or not. On ye here right, we have the necklace that's my pride and joy and singular positive memory from a week of sleeping three inches off the floor in Jerusalem. (OK, the chocolatey nut spread at breakfast time was bangin'). Not sure if it works together, but that bad boy is paired with my newly dubbed "fat girl" dress, whose wrap-around panels in the front are forever flattering and perfect for when your body just decides to stop digesting carbohydrates like mine does time to time.

Aaaand....the rejects. As it's been colder than a cocktail of icicles and frost last month, I've been finding ways to look warm without looking like the Ghostbusters Marshmallow, and...these ways are not them. A kilt is apparently chilly in winter? And a pair of Aaah! Real Monsters exercise tights doesn't scare the wind away? I think 2013 will have to be the year I finally figure out how in the fuck to layer, since I'd Photoshop a big ol' "FAIL!" atop these if I was able to. Instead, I'll just put on a different pair of leggings and hope for ze best.

Last but not least, a mega-thanks to the gals over at Madison Harding for sending me these kicks! I go blind at the sight of black and can't match anything because of it, so I'm hoping these lace-ups are the ticket to me dressing like a normal human Mondays through Fridays. Also, I feel like a soldier in them! Like, one of the Destiny's Child variety, not a real one. I'd die on the plane ride over, please. You don't want me defending your spot in line at Joe Coffee, let alone your country. But, in these boots? Total badass-in-training, minus the whole heaving yourself over a wall thing.